


Friday Night Live

by Moonlite_Knight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, M/M, deaging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 07:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlite_Knight/pseuds/Moonlite_Knight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is no beer, angels who can‘t freaking control their powers, and cats that are probably not cats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friday Night Live

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, now or ever.  
> Notes: This in set in an AU where humans and angels coexist either alongside each other. All the hunters are not hunters here, but all the angels are still angels.

“Dude, this has to be against our basic human rights.” Dean groused, bouncing a ball off the wall, intentionally near his brother’s head. When the ball, and the complaint, failed to extract a response, he continued. “I mean, a curfew? Seriously? What are we, frigging teenagers?”

It was Friday night, just after nine, and perfect weather to spend getting wasted in a bar somewhere. Usually, that is what Dean would be doing. Ideally, that is what he _should_ be doing. But instead, he was stuck at home with his younger brother, reduced to bouncing miniature blue balls from a bucket he’d found behind the couch off the wall because there just wasn’t anything else to do.

There wasn’t any beer in the house since Sam had forgotten to stock up before curfew hit, no Doctor Sexy MD on TV to distract him (not that he would have watched it with Sam in the room but still, it would have been something at least), and Sam, the only other person around, was intent on ignoring him in favor of making love to his laptop. All this ultimately meant that Dean Winchester, damn good mechanic, lady’s man, and all around awesome guy was bored out of his mind. And all this torture was courtesy of some angelic feathered dickheads.

He threw another ball at the wall again, aiming this time at the framed picture of Sammy and Ruby. The picture wobbled, but stayed on the wall. Sam glanced the photo with a frown, but continued pushing button’s on his laptop.  
   
“It’s Friday night!” Dean said, not whined. “There has to be a law against this.”

Sam hummed noncommittally but didn’t making any other form of acknowledgment..

“Dude, look it up, will you?” Dean continued, unfazed. “I’m positive that it says somewhere that you cannot keep a guy indoors on a Friday night.”

No answer. Sam continued to feel up his computer.

Fine, if Sammy wanted to be like that. Dean leaned back in his chair, raised his arm, aimed carefully, and fired. The ball hit the photo right smack on Ruby’s smug face. The picture wobbled perilously for a second and then came crashing to the ground, the glass cracking into half a dozen pieces and no doubt scratching the photo is was meant to protect.

“Bulls eye.” He said smugly, leaning back on the couch.

Sam finally looked up from his nerdy love affair to stare at the mess. “I’ve got more photos.”

“I’ve got more balls,” Dean smirked.

Sam’s face twisted into Bitch Face Number 84, a cross between, _Dude, seriously?_ and _Grow up, will you_ , with a smack of _There’s no way we’re possibly related_ thrown in for good measure. “How long have you been waiting to use that one?”

“Two hours. I’ve got dozens more.” Dean retorted, scooping out another ball and tossing it up in the air. “Wanna hear them all?”

Sam finally shut off his lover for the night and turned to fully face Dean. “If you’re that bored,” he started, crossing his arms. “You could do something useful, like, I don’t know, wash the dishes like you were supposed to do hours ago?”

Dean scoffed, grabbing another ball and tossing it from hand to hand. “Dude, I’ll never be bored enough to do that.” He grabbed another ball and added it to the other two he was tossing back and forth. “Hey look, I’m juggling—ah, never mind.”

Sam eyed the balls as they all went bouncing off in differing directions. “You know I’m not going to be the one cleaning those up.”

“Come on Sammy,” he protested, another ball already in his hand. “The Angels have already taken my booze and any chance I had of getting laid tonight. Don’t let them have my balls too.”

Sam groaned. “Will you stop it with the ball jokes?”

Dean threw the ball at him. “Can’t promise anything, but I’ll try to tone it down for your virgin ears.” He continued before Sam could open his mouth to protest the virginity of his ears. “You think the winged dicks will let me make a quick beer run?”

Sam’s face told him clearly what his brother‘s thoughts were on that particular idea. “Dean, the Angels set up this curfew for a reason—”

“Yeah, yeah. To catch whatever spirit’s been mojoing people out of existence. I get that.” Dean interrupted before Sam could go off into full lecture mode. He knew damn well about the supposed ‘Trickster’ running around town.

One of the Trickster’s latest victims had dropped his car off at Dean’s work for a long over-due tune-up just last week. The car was still there, collecting dust, when Dean left work today given that the unlucky dude was now just a ugly statute in front of the local university‘s library.

This hadn’t been the first time that the local ’guardian spirit’ had decided to punish some random townsfolk, but it was due to this latest punishment that the police department decided to contact the Angels for help. The feathered dicks had shown up three days ago and one of the first things they’d done was enforce a town wide curfew. Which made sense since all of the disappearances happened at night, but ultimately sucked since it meant that he had to spend Friday night with his brother.  

“You really think someone’ll get mojoed on a beer run?” Dean asked.

Sam frowned. “I think beer isn’t worth the risk.”

Dean wasn’t about to admit it, but Sam had a point. There was no way that he would ever let Sam out of the house at night until the freak show was caught. But Dean was older, and could take care of himself. Plus he was frigging bored and he wanted a beer dammit.  He’d waited all week for Friday night to arrive and there was no way he was letting the frigging Angels keep him was enjoying himself.

“Anyway, you’re only this annoyed because you haven’t even seen an Angel yet.”  

Dean didn’t need to turn towards Sam in order to know that his little brother was currently sporting an irritatingly smug look on his face. Guy sees an Angel one time, for all of ten seconds, and suddenly, he’s a fucking expert on them. Sure, Sam was currently minoring in Angel Studies in addition to his Criminal Justice major but still. _Ten seconds._

“They’re dicks with wings.” Dean scoffed. “I don’t need to see them to know that.”

“Right. Of course you don’t.” Sam replied in voice that implied the exact opposite.

“Shut it, bitch.”

“Make me, jerk.”

He reached back into the bucket intending to nail Sam right on his girly-haired head, but instead of the smooth rubber, his fingers scrapped the plastic bottom. Shit, all out of balls. Sam smirked at him and went back to his laptop.

Dean could have let it go then . Could have just resigned himself to failed Friday night watching reruns of badly written sitcoms. But he was an older brother, and one of the jobs of an older brother was to make sure that his sibling did not get a big head, and Sam was looking mighty pleased with himself right now.

Which meant, Plan B.

Kicking the bucket out of the way, Dean grabbed the remote, turned on the television, and leaned back. He quickly flipped through the channels until he reached the one he wanted. He turned up the volume and waited.

Sam’s head snapped up less than a second later.

“Dude are you seriously going to watch porn when I’m in the room?” he demanded, his face taking on Bitch Face Number 12, a blend of _What the hell, Dean_ and _Oh God no, must get far away now_.

Dean shrugged and simply made himself more comfortable on the couch. “You could leave.”

“I was here first!”

“I was born first which by default means I was here first. So either shut it and let me watch, or take your date to your room like a good boy.”

Not unlike a teenage girl, Sam scooped up his laptop and left the room in a huff, only pausing to throw his empty soda can at Dean.

Dean dodged it easily and smirked.  

Awesome Older Brother one. Teenage Girl Samantha zero.

He turned the volume higher, just because he could. Somewhere upstairs, a door banged shut, followed by a frustrated scream. Satisfied that Sam wouldn’t dare to leave his room anytime soon, Dean headed towards the door.

Hey, he wasn’t about to waste a perfectly fine Friday night indoors, curfew or no. Screw the Angels and the Trickster, the night was still young, and so was he.

~~~

  
Ten minutes later, Dean was still young. He was also trapped.

He wasn’t exactly sure what had happened. One second he’d been walking calmly down the street, keeping an eye on the shadows and thinking about what brands of beer to buy from Ellen’s 24/7 shop (she’d bitch about him being out past curfew, but she’d give him the beer) at the corner. The next second, he was being slammed into a cold brick wall, a hand clamped over his mouth and a warm body pressed tightly against his. His arms were pinned to his sides, making it impossible to fight back, which, after shrugging off the few second of stunned paralysis, Dean had tried, with all his strength and he was by no means a lightweight. His captor had seriously freaking inhuman strength. Shit, it’d be just his luck to have run into the Trickster.

“What do you think you doing?” a low, unfamiliar voice growled into his ear before pulling back and giving Dean what was likely meant to be an intimidating glare.

It didn’t have the desired effect on Dean. Far from it. The eyes that met his were blue, a very, very stunning, gorgeous, oddly hypnotic blue. And less than five inches from his face.

“Uh…” he said, very intelligently.

The blue eyes narrowed slightly. “You should not be here. It is not safe.”

Dean blinked once, twice, and forced himself to focus on Blue Eyes’s words. “I can take care of myself. And besides, look who’s calling the kettle black.”

The annoyance in Blue Eye’s, well eyes, disappeared into confusion. “What?” Something shifted behind him.

Dean forced his eyes away from the oddly intense stare to look. Wings.

He looked back into the blue eyes. An Angel. Fuck. This could not get any worse.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Dean tensed at the new voice, but Blue Eyes reacted before he could.

“Trickster.” The Angel hissed, finally moving away from Dean and turning around.

He’d moved less than a foot away, but at least he wasn’t pinning Dean to the wall anymore, which was a good thing, Dean firmly told himself. Blue Eye’s wings blocked his view of the new arrival, also a good thing, because hey, maybe if he couldn’t see past the freaking huge, black, glossy wings to see the Trickster, then the creep couldn’t look past them to see him. So maybe there was a chance of him getting out of this with his limbs intact and no “I told you so’s” from smug little brothers.

“Ooh, an Angel and a little human.” The Trickster said sounding very amused. “Naughty naughty.”

Dean bristled, but that was nothing compared to Blue Eye’s reaction. The Angel stiffened and his wings spread wide. It almost looked like he was shocked.

“Wait,” he growled. “You—”

He broke off suddenly.

Okay, this was definitely a bad idea, but Dean was only human. Sue him, he was curious. He shifted quietly to the right and leaned down, peering under the extended wing and finally caught sight of the Trickster. Huh. Somehow, he’d pictured the guy as being taller. And louder. And for him to do something more trickstery than stare silently at the Angel. What the hell was up with that? Were the two friends or something? It’d just be Dean’s luck to run into the only Angel that was friends with the Trickster.

But, either way, this was a perfect opportunity to get out of here before Angel Dude and his friend remembered he was here and took him to the police station to be written up for being out past curfew or turned him into a statue.

Dean inched further to the right and then everyone starting moving. Including the trash bags littering the alley. All of them zoomed straight at the Angel, and Dean.

“Close your eyes!” The Angel ordered, shoving Dean behind him.

Normally, Dean would have completely disregarded the order, but the angle’s tone demeaned obedience, and well, flying trash. He slammed his eyes shut. The next second, he was very glad he did. Blinding white-hot light stabbed at his eyeballs even through shut lids.

And then searing pain spread through every inch of him, and then, nothing. As quickly as it had all begun, it ended, and the alley was silent again.

“This was not supposed to happen.” The Angel said into the silence. He sounded… _odd._ His voice was higher than it had been a second ago, and no longer growly.

Weird.

Deeming it safe, Dean raised his head up from the ground where he’d somehow ended up. At first everything seemed fine. The pain had completely vanished and he actually felt a bit refreshed. Then he realized everything was oddly out of proportion. Then he realized everything was three feet taller.

Or, actually, he was three feet shorter.

Dean forgot all about the lectures Sam had given him on blasphemy in front of Angels for the next ten minutes.


End file.
